


lover, be good to me

by nikeforova



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 10:06:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19060468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikeforova/pseuds/nikeforova
Summary: a picture of need, of want, of late nights and sunlight spilling into the room. nobody sees anything but want, as if the plain devotion could ever be missed in yuuri's eyes, in viktor's too.they'd be better suited to a church, thinks viktor idly.really, isn't that what yuuri's bedroom is?a series of stories, all happening in yuuri's bedroom, and all pointing towards the exact moment viktor nikiforov felt tethered to the earth for the first time (and wasn't unhappy about it).





	lover, be good to me

**Author's Note:**

> I have nothing to say except that you're not obligated to read this, but if you are: I hope you like it!

Viktor  _wants_ so badly. For what, he does not know. Mari doesn't trust him yet, he knows. This settles comfortably under his skin, like a promise.  _I hope she will someday._ Somewhere in the universe, some star out there says:  _she will._

i.

The air is warm and humid, and Victor's shirt sticks to him on the corners. Yuuri's room is so warm, so  _right_. The moonlight streams in, and Viktor inhales sharply at the sight of Yuuri sleeping next to him, his hair swept messily and his mouth open as his chest rises, falls, rises. Viktor counts the breaths, in, out, in. He is alive, sharply and beautifully so, but the moment is so soft there's a sudden pain in his chest. Yuuri turns in his sleep, hand ever so slightly touching Viktor's arm. 

There is not much more room in my heart, Viktor thinks, and is surprised to find that he will happily fill it until it bursts. The mechanical clock on the wall clicks slightly in the darkness that is silver, and he eventually finds sleep. He dreams of skating, of jumping, but he doesn't land, never hits the ice with a ring.

ii.

Time passes quickly. There is so much to do, and so little to say. Everything that has to be said is whispered across vast oceans of something that cannot be understood at night, passed from mouth to soul. Viktor finds that the crashing waves in his heart are less crashing, more lapping at his feet. He almost laughs at this thought, at this stupidly complicated metaphor for his own mind, and Makkachin trots over. Her head is heavy on Viktor's palm when he offers his hand for her, and she lets his hand trail over her head. 

Viktor speaks, so quietly it can barely be heard. 

"What am I going to do, Makka?"

Makka doesn't answer, choosing to look up with her sad eyes. Viktor sees her cock her head in the faint darkness, and something dies away inside him. Good, bad, he can't tell--it's probably ugly, now that he thinks about it--it's gone. He wonders whether he should mourn this loss, and decides against it. Good riddance, he thinks, and just like that, he's human again. 

iii.

Many nights pass like this, but Viktor's time is most gladly spent in the late afternoon, when the hazy sunlight filters in through the window. He can count the specks, if he tries. It's golden, and unlike anything he's ever seen before. He spends hours holding his hand up to the sunlight, then taking it back, just to see it bathed in color and gold. 

The gold is one thing on him, but it's another on Yuuri. Yuuri is a work of art at any moment, rapidly changing, but in sunlight he becomes a madonna, something Viktor would leave his heart by his feet for, place flowers in the vase next. Viktor suddenly feels a stab of pain remembering the churches he is so fond of, not for the God, but for the comfort.

 _Blessed be the damned,_ said the father, and Viktor poured his heart into believing he would be saved. 

Viktor knows exactly what stained glass looks like when a church is empty. He, too, has stood in front of the altar, looking up at something that has had hours of work put into it, has had so many offerings. He wonders, when he is sure that only God is listening, whether people have ever stood in front of him and been scared into silence before, too stunned by beautiful and wondrous art to realize that there is a purpose to the altar: to pray.

_Pray, and you shall be redeemed._

Viktor realizes that he stopped praying long ago. Viktor thinks, and thinks, and thinks. 

Sometimes, Yuuri wraps his hand around Viktor's head and pulls him to sleep, and Viktor can only think:  _I have not prayed, but I have worshiped._

The ice is worship, but worship without prayer means little. Viktor arrives at ice castle at ungodly hours of the day.  _Where is my rosary?_

iv.

Yuuri pulls Viktor into his arms, and Viktor is tired and hungry and wanting. His breath hitches when Yuuri palms him through the thin material of his pants. All he can leave in offering is a gasp, hips instinctively snapping towards Yuuri's kind hands. Viktor  _wants_ and  _wants_ and for the first time in years, Viktor learns how to pray again. He leaves flowers for the mother, a soft bite to Yuuri's neck. He decorates the altar, moaning at the  _touch,_ the want, the need that is spilling over him. He spreads his legs for Yuuri, holds him close when they softly return to earth.

 _Even the sinners will be welcomed into heaven,_ he remembers. 

He forces out a laugh, and Yuuri gently cups the top of his head, leaves a kiss on Viktor's forehead. The irony of this gesture is not lost on Viktor.

This is a question, and Viktor is not sure whether he knows the answer and simply does not want to tell it, or whether he has never known and never will.

He leans into Yuuri, speaking softly.

"Nothing, love, I was just thinking about church. I haven't been in a long time.

Yuuri's breath hitches. He, too, whispers Viktor's name. 

Viktor looks at him. He thinks  _Yuuri Katsuki, you may be a god. This, I do not know, but if it is true, you are the kindest one I've ever met._

Maybe prayer has found him after all.

iv.

Viktor leaves the hotel quietly. He wants to know what stained glass looks like at night, what secrets church might hold for him at night without tears to create a barrier. It is quieter than he remembers. For the first time in years, Viktor bows his head. He sits like this for hours, quietly.  _I have been saved I have been saved I have been saved_ tumbles out of his hands and into the very stone of the church. 

He does not know who has done the saving: him, Yuuri, or the very being that this ancient building promises. It speaks to him  _come and see come and see come and see, taste and live taste and live taste and live._

Viktor thinks and thinks and thinks this time, years of regrets and worries truly abandoned now. Take me into your arms, he asks the universe. 

When he walks back, he walks slowly, with purpose. He slips back into bed, curiously still bedazzled with moonlight, and falls asleep. He dreams again, of jumping, but this time he lands on the ice with a satisfying scratch, weaves footwork in until he is dancing, flying. 

Viktor still wants, but soft and rounded. It does not pierce him as he thought it would, but rather settles gently in his chest. When he next returns to Yu-topia, Yuuri's hand in his, Mari grumbles at him.

"I hope you're okay with cleaning, because you're going to be doing just that," she tells him. She wears a loose smile and an expression of forgiveness. For what, he doesn't know. He does not question it. He instead smiles genuinely, muted--who smiles at cleaning? Viktor Nikiforov is finally undone, is no more. There is just Vicchan, Vitya, Viktor. He holds them close, and gets to cleaning.

_Even those who have turned their backs for so long, then, are welcome to the feast._

vi


End file.
